


Once in a Lifetime

by Thefacelesswriter



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Ultimateverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Good ass music, Hand Jobs, I don't do tags, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, talking heads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7175642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thefacelesswriter/pseuds/Thefacelesswriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe to Apocalypse in which Angel isn't killed and instead enrols (unwillingly) into Xavier's school for gifted freaks. He doesn't expect visitors at the dead of night, let alone one with such stupid questions. Devils aren't renowned for knowing where the boundaries stand. Porn, that's all I gotta say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once in a Lifetime

Angel woke from nightmares of skin melting fire. That was not the reason he’d woken up. Dreams of dying were as common now as clouds in the sky. He adjusted the pillow resting beneath his wings and shuddered from pain as he stretched them carefully. Sleep was rare; sleep that was painless was near extinct for Warren Worthington III. Nights were usually reserved only for flying, listening to the single tape of _Talking Heads_ he’d pawed off the speedster, and occasionally jacking off when all else seemed futile: this was one such night. He reached down to press a palm against the disinterested bulge in his briefs, beginning to massage with his eyes closed as he pushed away the nightmare and ushered in a fantasy. It could be anyone though he had his preferences: blue skin was one of them, a hard contrast to a panting red mouth and pale eyes forced wide open.

And suddenly, a noise, barely there but still enough for Warren to snap his hand from his cock with a whispered, “shit!” He’d forgotten about the noise, the reason he’d woken from. It could’ve been Peter stealing back his cassette though whoever had entered the room had remained, veiled in the shadows of the warzone that was Angel’s quarters.     

“I know you’re here” Warren snapped, giving suspicious glances to the dark corners. “Unless you want a metal blade in your chest I suggest you come out. There are only so many places you can hide.” And sure enough there came a short combustion in the shadows and the sound of quiet breathing. Warren leaned up from his tangle of sheets. He smiled grimly. “I knew it was you, Nightcrawler.”

            “Please call me Kurt” he implored in a quiet voice.

            “Whatever, devil.” And devil, Kurt knew, was even worse. They were near the same age and yet Warren treated him like a bratty sibling. He finally emerged from the darkness in pyjamas too casual to match his appearance. Warren watched him from the bed with his hands behind his head, shirtless and staring with a strange intensity. He wondered whether Kurt had caught him pre-masturbation. Kurt wondered if he’d ever stop blushing from witnessing it.

            “So what do you want?” Warren asked. “What was so important you had to come at,” he glanced to the alarm clock on the bedside table and held it up for Kurt to see, “two in the fucking morning?”

            “I want to know why you hate being here” Kurt stated plainly, hands gripped tightly by his sides. Warren merely groaned and flung his feet to the floor.

            “And you wanted to have this conversation _now,_ in the dead of night?

“You weren’t asleep. I heard you” he answered, hesitant before adding, “...yelling and crying out. Where you dreaming?”

“No offence,” the angel started with a biting tone, “but I’m not in the mood for a deep and meaningful with someone who mutilated me. Not to mention the fact you basically killed me.”

            “It’s mutual. You almost killed me too.”

            “Yeah? Well, I didn’t take away your power to teleport in that cage, did I? And _you_ didn’t plunge headfirst into a metal inferno!” Warren wandered to the shelf in the corner, back to Kurt as he attempting to force drawers overflowing with assortments of clothes closed, as if to create some order in the chaotic mess of his room. “I hate these stupid drawers! I should just throw them out the window!” On that day in Cairo Kurt remembered saying a prayer under his breath. It hadn’t only been for Angel. Many had died in Apocalypse’s wrath, mutants and humans. The X-men had regrouped and intended to find the nearest airport when Magneto held up a hand, floating over the destruction towards the burning remains of their once aircraft. The metal groaned and the hull that remained was torn in two as a broken body emerged into the sky, dragged upwards by the metal of the wings. ‘This one’s alive’ he’d said calmly. Kurt had watched, unsure whether to feel joy or despair in his paralysing awe. Still he didn’t know what to feel about it.  

            “Would you rather be dead?” Kurt asked. Warren turned his head sharply, releasing the drawers. “Xavier’s school is no fighting ring. You no longer have to hurt your own kind to stay alive. Here you can train to harness your powers, help people, become one of the X-men.”

            “Next you’ll tell me to be ‘mutant and proud’. Yeah, I’m so proud of killing innocent people because I was told to.” Angel snickered in amusement. “Haven’t you realized that every kid and teacher in this school absolutely despise me? If they don’t want to rip my guts out then they’re scared shitless of me.” He turned his head up to look to Kurt once more. The smile he showed was almost friendly. “Except you. I don’t know what the hell your deal is.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and sighed. His chest rippled with the subtle movements and Kurt found himself staring hard at a battered cassette player sitting on a mound of blankets on the floor.

            “You listen to many tapes?” Warren asked, moving closer.

            “I like music very much” he answered, feeling the boy’s presence behind him.

“You like _Talking Heads_?”

            “Is that a song?” he asked naively. Warren scoffed. He pushed beside Kurt and pressed the rewind button, cassette player hissing quietly. His arm was unnaturally warm against his own.

            “It’s a band, the _best_ band. And the best band makes the best songs.” His finger pressed play and they both waited several seconds for the beginning of a song. It had a heavy bass beat, dissimilar to anything Kurt had heard on Scott’s radio. Warren was leaned over the device, running his index finger along the scrapes in the plastic. “Only good thing about this place is that the students sleep like the dead. Being a freak is exhausting, I guess.”

            He moved on instinct. It was a great fury at Angel’s words that caused Kurt to push further into his personal face, grab his wrist in a strangling grip and lightly sink in his nails. Warren definitely felt it. Good, Kurt thought wickedly, let him feel intimidated.

            “We are not freaks, Warren” he said slowly, every word enunciated. And suddenly Warren was pushing them both hard until Kurt felt the back of his head slam painfully against the door. He’d released the wrist from his grasp only for Warren to take his own. No matter if he tried to flee; Warren would simply come with him. He suddenly realized how bad a mistake this was.   

            “Don’t tell me what to think, devil.” The metal of Angel’s wings flared dangerously.

            “You test tempers and expect no consequences, like a child. I can’t- ah!” Angel’s hand left his arm and caught his chin like a viper’s strike, cutting Kurt’s words apart. His hand pushed his cheeks hard, giving him no choice but to gasp in discomfort.

            “For once in your life just _shut up_.” There was pain though not from a fist. The noise was lost and pointless as Warren kissed him with the ferocity of a thunderstorm. For the precious seconds he had to comprehend Kurt could do nothing but stare and wonder whether this was the joke before a cruel laugh and the punch in the face or when Warren would simply kick him out the door and never mention it again (of the two, that would have been worse). Warren however did not push him away. He pulled the devil closer, wrapped his free arm around his back to press hard against the small of his back. And then with a sudden mortification Kurt felt a tongue pressing through his teeth, forcing its way across his mouth and licking his own. It shouldn’t have brought the excitement it did, a sudden fever that had Kurt carefully pressing his tongue back against the touches. Warren was running the tip against the sharp canines of the devil before pulling away for a breath of air.   

            “Hold still and for the love of your God don’t you dare teleport.” One hand of Warren’s hands left his back in an absence Kurt felt like an agony. He watched said hand reach to Warren’s own sleep pants, messily pulling them down his hips before kicking them off his legs. He wasn’t wearing underwear: of course. The devil shivered, holding his pants tightly up, eyes closed. Warren was kissing him again, turning his head with one hand as the other pulled at Kurt’s pants. He simply pulled them higher. Warren growled hard.   

            “Ditch your pants” he demanded, nose pressed against his neck and the hot breath travelled like a fire down his skin. Kurt shook his head insistently, blush creeping down his neck. “You afraid you’ll like it? I bet that’s it. God doesn’t want you screwing his favourite angel”   

            “We’re friends... Please, Warren...”

“We’re not friends, though we can be afterwards if you want. You might even want to be more than that after.” Warren chuckled darkly. He’d moved his hand to Kurt’s pants grabbed his cock through the flimsy cotton with little mercy, delivering several messy strokes. The boy against him was a tsunami and all reasoning was then washed away. Kurt heaved for air at the sudden teeth against his earlobe and the moan that came from him was the first of many.

_“Warren...”_ That seemed to be the signal the angel waited for. He pulled them both onto the floor with little grace, Kurt yelping as he landed on a pair of combat boots. Warren was atop him again, legs straddling Kurt’s as he looked down to his captive, wide eyed and mouth half open and smeared with saliva.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” Warren rutted against Kurt’s thigh and he shivered at the hard presence of his cock. The devil lacked the confidence to reach his hand down, stroke the head and bring forward precum, replace his fingers with his tongue and see how hard the angel could squirm. Warren had taken hold of his tail, darting to and fro like a cobra, pulling hard. Kurt moaned hard. He’d fought like a demon and never felt as primal as he did now, alive with fire. “I want to fuck you so badly, Kurt.”

            “I’ve never...” The devil started and diverted his eyes, unable to waste breath on such useless words. Warren merely grinned.

            “A virgin?” Kurt could only nod. “Well I have stuff to use. Lube, I mean.” Angel waited for a response though Kurt remained quiet. “Do you want to?” It was a question he was not ready to answer. His mind screamed no but with hips humping the air and a heat he couldn’t sweat out, his body felt as if it were the only cure, whatever it was Warren could do to him. God would have surely had something to say on the matter though the room felt like a box only big enough for the two of them. They’d returned to the cage but the spectators had gone home. Warren had leaned down, their bodies pressed tightly together. “Wrap your legs around me, little devil.” Kurt did so without hesitation and he felt his crotch press for three beautiful seconds against Warren’s. “I can fuck with you in more ways than one. Take off your clothes.”

            Both boys stripped Kurt of his shirt, pants, and underwear; a rushed and near comical array of garments flying through the air only to get lost within the mess upon the floor. Warren wasted no time, grasping both their cocks in a tight grasp and beginning to pump them.

            “Oh god... I’ve wanted to do this to you” One hand moved to Kurt’s hair, running along his ears and pulling hard in his hair.

            “I’m not opposed to the idea” Kurt replied with a breathy laugh, pulling Warren closer.

            “Next time we’ll be on a bed. I might even have to tie you down, keep you still. Next time I’ll have you riding me. Probably don’t even know what that means do you?” He didn’t know though he definitely wanted to now. Warren had latched onto his neck again, biting down his shoulder until he nibbled at the shoulder bone. Kurt shuddered beneath him, breaking the rhythm.    

            “Warren!” He said, an attempt to enunciate that he was so very close to finishing, shivering madly.

            “Don’t call me that. Not now” Warren mumbled against his skin and there within his tone lay a feeling Kurt had always known. It was shame and embarrassment, a need to hide behind iron walls. It brought guilt unwelcome in Kurt’s gut. He forced himself to swallow his meekness and grabbed Angel’s cock tightly. The boy above him near choked at the sudden contact. Kurt forced the words his mind screamed but still they came out a shy mutter.

            “I just want to ride your cock. I need you inside me, Angel”  

            His instinct had been right. Warren fell against him with a guttural groan tearing from his throat, cock thrusting madly against his own as he came in several sudden spurts. His wings spread to their full length, blades dangerously close to the wall. “Fuck, fuck!” Kurt felt the grip upon him bruise into him body and soul. From now on things would always be different between them. He allowed his orgasm to come and Kurt closed his eyes, whimpering quietly as it did. They lay upon the cold floor of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters, gasping for air in the sex scented room with more than one of them wondering whether the neighbouring mutants had heard. _Talking Heads_ continued to play, unnoticed until now.

            “Were we really loud?” Kurt asked in a hoarse whisper. Angel kept his face pressed in thick black hair..     

            “Probably” he muttered, “though they probably think I’ve just killed you.”

            “That’s even worse.” Angel was looking at his hands with disgust, reaching for the closest piece of laundry and wiping them fiercely with it. “Gross” he said with a frown. “Here, clean yourself up.”

            It was streaked up Kurt’s stomach and dripping down his chest, cock now soft and withdrawn against his thigh with a trail of cum leading to the head. He blushed furiously and scrubbed away at the mess. Angel watched silently.

            “You really a virgin?” He asked.

            “Do you think many people would want to be close to me with the way I look?” Kurt asked, placing the semen stained shirt beside him. He’d liked some girls, some boys too. It was problematic for his faith, an issue he had yet to resolve. Thoughts of love had been long ago when life had been quiet enough for his mind to find beauty in the human form. Most had been patrons of the circus, some performers. All had dismissed him in more ways than one.  

            “Don’t talk like that” Angel snapped.

            “Easy for you to say” With a clean hand he reached for Angel’s curls, pulling one strand gently. It looked like woven gold, matching the healthy pink of his skin and crystal blue irises. Angel, of course, shrugged his touch away.

“Gross, it could still be on your hands.”

“Sorry.” Eventually Kurt found the energy to stand, retrieving his pants while still searching for his shirt and underwear. In the dark of the apocalyptic mess, it would be impossible. He sighed, pulling on his track pants and leaving it at that. Angel had retracted his wings, hobbling slowly to the bed and falling near dead upon it. He said nothing and Kurt wondered whether he should simply disappear in smoke or leave via the door.    

“Well, where do you think you’re going? I’m not going to tear your head off.” Angel flipped back the sheets to the space on the mattress beside him and shuffled to face the window. He’d turned away and Kurt knew to make him say no more, merely make the short trip to the bed in a puff of smoke and carefully crawl inside, replacing the sheets and facing the metal wings tucked up tightly against Angel’s back.

            “I don’t want to fall asleep against your wings” Kurt complained quietly. “They’re cold.”

            “Fine, little miss princess” Angel fumbled into the sheets as his awkwardly twisted his body, wings now glittering in the moonlight from the window. “Better?” He asked aggressively.

            Nightcrawler could see the Angel’s face. Though his face was something of the gods he had a mind made on earth. It was one of dishonesty and anger, built on layers and layers of suffering and loss. It was hard to see glimpses of a better person within such darkness, though just because it was unseen did not mean it did not exist. Kurt smiled and closed his eyes, leaning forward to feel Angel’s lips run across his cheek for a moment. “Yes. Much better.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really want to say much right now. I'm tired and sick of rereading this over and over and hope it's good enough for you lovely fans who are reading and writing this content. Once again this story is set in the X-men Apocalypse movie, an alternate universe (like I said) where Angel didn't die and was instead accepted into Xavier's school. I have to make alternate universes to write this and that's a crying shame. For those still waiting on the second chapter of 'Elegy to a Devil' please sit tight as it is on its way. I appreciate every kudos and bookmark and try to respond to every comment. I love chatting to you all and can only hope you enjoy the Frankenstein's monster this story is.


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